


Terpsichorean

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [92]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Pillow Talk, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5677096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>terpsichorean: adjective: tərpsikəˈrēən,-ˈkôrēən: pertaining to dancing</p><p>early 19th century: from Terpsichore (used in the 18th century to denote a female dancer or the art of dance) + -an.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terpsichorean

John ran his fingertips lightly along Sherlock's terpsichorean hamstrings and sighed.

"Did you ever dance, love?"

"Hmmm?"

"You have a dancer's body-did you ever dance?"

"I wanted to." He paused, and John waited. If Sherlock wanted to tell him, it would take time, not prodding.

"When I was four, my parents went to see Swan Lake. They brought me back a program and a tape of the music. I played it over and over again until the tape broke. I thought the dancers were the most elegant things I had ever seen...."

John touched the single tear that ran down his lover's cheekbone.

"They put up with it, thought it was cute and 'just a phase' until I told them I wanted to take classes. Mum may have let me, but then Mycroft looked up from his copy of 'The Economist' and sneered, " 'William, ballet is for sissies and girls. No brother of mine is going to run around in tights...' " That's all it took. I ran from the room, tore all the pictures from my walls and didn't leave my room for two days. Mycroft was made to apologize, he was only 11 at the time, but it didn't matter anymore. I asked for my first chemistry set the day I left my room and never mentioned ballet again."

"Oh, love. I'm so sorry, you would have been amazing."

John kissed away the tears that ran uncontrolled down Sherlock's face, then nuzzled under his ear, and whispered, "Roll over, love."

Sherlock turned on to his back and John straddled his long, lean thighs. He placed a kiss over his heart and gently teased his nipples.

"John." He whispered.

"I'm here, love." He made his way down to his inner thigh and paused. "I am so so sorry that no one ever got to see you dance. I would have loved to have seen it."

"I need you."

"I know."

John gently took Sherlock apart until he felt him quiver softly beneath him, "Shh, love, let go, I have you."

Sherlock grabbed John's face and kissed him hard as he came.

"I love you."

"I know."

"No, John. You couldn't possibly know how much."

"I think I do, if it's anywhere half as much as I love you, we are the luckiest blokes on the planet."

Sherlock kissed him again, then rolled John onto his back and rested his head on his good shoulder. "I think a shower is in order, after I return the favour. Hmmm?

"Hard to argue with that, love."

"Then tea."

"And toast with honey?"

"Hmmm." Sherlock then grinned that grin that gave John goosebumps, yes, that one, and proceeded to more than return the favour.


End file.
